The Ice God
by CaliburnX
Summary: A sequel to the first season episode "Ice", set around the time of Season 2


THE ICE GOD  
By Patrick Gallagher  
  
[1:00 am]  
[SEPT. 24TH, 1995]  
[CHELTON, COLORADO]  
  
Grady stumbled on the dark dirt road, an unseen  
pothole almost bringing him to his knees. He cursed as   
he regained his balance, continuing his previous hurried   
pace. It would serve him right if he broke his neck out   
here in the dark, at least, that's what Jenny would say.   
Serve him right for staying for those last two drinks at   
Ollie's.  
  
Now he had to face a three mile walk home.  
  
A sharp cry, somewhere off to his left, made him   
snap his head around. Some kind of bird? An owl maybe?   
He listened carefully for a few moments, but the sound   
wasn't repeated.  
  
I'm trying to freak myself out, now. Sooner I get   
home, the better.  
  
Up ahead, a thick grove of trees overhung the road,   
blocking out the pale light of the half-moon overhead,   
creating a black tunnel that Grady found strangely   
forboding, even though he'd walked this road dozens of   
times before, both day and night.  
  
Cursing himself for a fool, and a fairly drunk one   
at that, he picked up the pace, reminding himself of the   
hell he'd have to pay when he got home to Jenny.  
  
The trees were surrounding him before he knew it,   
and he began to scuff his feet slightly as he walked,   
hoping to detect any more potholes before they could   
trip him again.  
  
Then he heard the sound.  
  
Movement in the bushes to his left. Someone, or   
something, trying to keep pace with him as he walked.   
Perhaps trying to move stealthily, but not making a very   
good job of it. Grady stopped. So did the sound. He   
turned to face the source of the sound, peering into the   
darkness.  
  
He couldn't see a damned thing.  
  
"You might as well come out," he called, hoping he   
didn't sound as nervous as he felt, "I know you're   
there."  
  
There was no reply, and no further movement. He   
licked his lips, taking a step closer to the edge of the   
road.  
  
That was when the world exploded in a crimson flash   
as he was hit from behind, hard. He staggered forward,   
almost regaining his balance, when he was hit again. He   
went down, dimly aware of the sound of several pairs of   
running feet, as an all-consuming blackness swept over   
him.  
  
  
[3:00 am]  
  
Grady came awake slowly, his head pounding. His   
first thought was, a real bitch of a hangover. How much   
did I drink last night?  
  
Then he tried to bring his hands up to his head,   
and found he couldn't. He opened his eyes.  
  
He was in a dimly lit room, some kind of cabin, by   
the looks of things. The hard shape of a straight-back   
chair was behind him, and it quickly became apparent   
that his hands were tied securely to the chair.  
  
As he began to struggle with his bonds, three   
figures moved around from behind him into his field of   
view. Two men and a woman. They looked vaguely familiar   
to Grady. He was sure he'd seen them around town at some   
time.  
  
"What the hell is this?" he groaned, "What do you   
want?"  
  
One of the men, older than the other two, his hair   
almost completely grey, produced a wallet. Grady   
recognized it as his own. Grey-hair glanced at the   
driver's licence in the wallet.  
  
"Mister... Grady. What we want is quite simple." A   
smile devoid of any warmth crept across the man's face.   
"We want you. We want to make you whole"  
  
The woman, young, dark haired, somewhere in her   
twenties... Grady was positive he'd seen her before...   
produced a glass jar from behind her back. Inside the   
jar, indistinct in the dim light, something squirmed and   
ticked against the glass.  
  
Wearing the same vacant smile as the older man, she   
moved towards Grady. "Hold him," she ordered. The   
younger man moved in quickly and grabbed Grady's head,   
bending it forward until his chin touched his chest,   
exposing the back of his neck.  
  
"What are you doing!? Let me go you son of a   
bitch!?" Grady's initial confusion was quickly giving   
way to white-hot panic. He began to struggle wildly, but   
the young man's grip was firm.  
  
He heard the rasp of the lid being removed from the   
jar, and a moment later something landed on the bare   
skin at the base of his skull. It squirmed briefly, then   
there was excrutiating pain as it began to burrow.  
  
Grady started to scream.  
  
-----oOo-----  
  
Outside, concealed in the shadows, Litton almost   
dropped his camera as he watched what was happening to   
Grady.   
  
That was it. He'd had enough of this shit. He   
didn't care how much he was being paid for this gig. It   
was time to run!  
  
  
[12:30 pm]  
[SEPT. 28TH]  
[WASHINGTON D.C.]  
  
"I really don't want to do this, Mulder." Dana   
Scully hurried along, trying to keep pace with the long-  
legged stride of her partner.  
  
Fox Mulder smiled down at her. "Feeling a little   
nervous, Scully? Have you finally run out of excuses to   
fend off Frohike?"  
  
"Don't push it, Mulder. It's just that I can think   
of a lot of things I'd rather be doing with my lunch   
break rather than visiting your weird friends."  
  
"Sorry. But Langly said he had something important   
for us. As usual, he wouldn't go into details over the   
phone. Said the NSA had taps on every phone in the area,   
specifically to try and locate the 'Lone Gunman'   
offices. If it's any consolation, I'll buy you lunch   
tomorrow."  
  
Scully grinned, "Sure, what'll it be? A bag of   
sunflower seeds?"  
  
Mulder grinned back at her. "How'd you guess?"  
  
-----oOo-----  
  
The latest office of the "Lone Gunman" magazine   
was, like the numerous offices they had occupied before,   
small, badly lit and, above all, cheap.  
  
As she followed Mulder through the door, Scully   
repressed a groan. She had been hoping, irrationally she   
supposed, that she wouldn't have to deal with all three   
of the Lone Gunmen on this visit. But she had no such   
luck, they were all here; the neatly dressed, bearded   
Byers, shaggy-haired, bespectacled Langly; and the   
portly Frohike, as usual, his backside planted firmly in   
a chair in front of a computer monitor.  
  
Frohike leered as she entered. "The amazingly hot   
Agent Scully! Can't keep away from me, can you?"  
  
Scully scowled at him. Frohike's smile just   
widened.  
  
Surprisingly, it was Byers who intervened. "Can it,   
Frohike. Mulder, I'm glad you could make it."  
  
"Anytime. What's the big conspiracy this time?"  
  
Byers shook his head. "We're not too sure anymore.   
That's why we called you."  
  
At a nod from Byers, Langly pulled out a large   
manila envelope. From it he produced a stack of black   
and white photos.  
  
"We've had a private detective keeping an eye on an   
organisation in Colorado," said Byers. "They call   
themselves 'The Fellowship of the Ice God'. One of the   
fringiest of the fringe cults."  
  
Mulder began leafing through the photos, passing   
each one on to Scully when he had finished with them.   
For the most part, they showed a compound in a wooded   
area, about a dozen wood cabins scattered about the   
clearing. In several, people could be seen walking about   
the compound, but their activities seemed far from   
unusual.  
  
"So what's their angle?" asked Mulder.  
  
"The Fellowship believe that a divine entity they   
call the 'Ice God' is coming to spread his influence   
across the world and guide mankind into a new,   
enlightened age." Byers indicated the photo Mulder was   
currently studying. It showed a grey-haired man,   
somewhere in his fifties, with cold, confident eyes and   
a humourless smile. "That's Max Prewitt. He leads the   
cult. A very intelligent man. Used to be a biologist   
before he went into the religion business."  
  
"You think he's in it for the tax write-off?"   
Mulder was only half-joking as he passed the photo on to   
Scully. The slight smile on his face disappeared as he   
examined the next photo.  
  
"Scully." His voice was emotionless as he passed   
the photo on to Scully. Her eyes widened as she took in   
the details.  
  
"My god. Mulder that looks like..." She squinted,   
trying to make out more detail.  
  
"There's a computer-enhanced enlargement at the   
bottom of the pile," volunteered Frohike.  
  
Mulder slid the photo out. He only needed to give   
it a cursory glance before handing it to Scully. She   
held the photos side by side, glancing from one to the   
other. The first was taken from outside a cabin, similar   
to the ones in the compound, looking in through a   
window. A man was being restrained in a chair by   
another, his head bent forward at a painful angle. A   
young woman held an upturned jar above the first man's   
neck, and on the man's neck...  
  
She checked the computer-enhancement. There was no   
doubt about it. She repressed a shudder.  
  
"Memories of our Alaskan holiday," muttered Mulder.  
  
Lying across the man's neck was a worm-like   
creature about three inches long.  
  
Byers frowned. "You've seen this thing before?"  
  
Mulder nodded.  
  
"It's a parasitic life-form," said Scully. "It   
enters the host, and creates radical changes in   
behaviour patterns. Paranoia, psychotic tendancies..."  
  
"And a strong drive to pass the infection on to   
other hosts," finished Mulder.  
  
"Where did it come from?" asked Byers.  
  
"Government experimental biology labs," said   
Langly. "Any money you like."  
  
"An Arctic Research team were drilling into the ice   
in Northern Alaska. They discovered the parasite encased   
in the ice."  
  
"So it's like, what, a prehistoric parasite that we   
have no defence against?"  
  
"Mulder's theory leans towards extraterrestrial,"   
said Scully, placing the photos on the overcrowded desk.  
  
Mulder ran a hand through his hair as he looked at   
the photos. "You know, theres something I can't figure   
here." He looked at the three Lone Gunmen. "What's your   
interest in all this? A cult in Colorado isn't exactly   
in your area of investigation."  
  
Byers looked distinctly uneasy. He glanced at   
Langly and Frohike. Each gave him a slight nod.  
  
"The girl in that photo," he said, "She's my   
sister."  
  
-----oOo-----  
  
Outside, Mulder and Scully walked quickly towards   
their parked car. Mulder had the manila envelope in his   
hand.  
  
"Jesus, Mulder. In Alaska we had that thing in a   
closed system. If it get's loose amid a large   
population..."  
  
"I know." Mulder forced a half-smile, "One   
consolation, I hear Colorado's beautiful this time of   
year."  
  
  
[2:30 pm]  
[SEPT. 29TH]  
[CHELTON, COLORADO]  
  
Mulder peered through a gap in the blinds as he   
stood beside the window of Unit 21 in the Chelton Motor   
Inn. Outside, everything appeared disturbingly...   
normal. Adults went about their business, kids played.   
It was hard to believe that some of them might be   
possessed by the Alaskan parasites.  
  
"Anything happening out there?" Scully was sitting   
at the small dining table in one corner of the room, her   
laptop and the Lone Gunman file in front of her. A cable   
ran from the computer to the room's telephone socket.  
  
"Not a lot," he glanced at his watch. "Litton's   
late."  
  
"I'm surprised he agreed to speak to us at all, if   
he's as paranoid as his Lone Gunman friends."  
  
"He's just a hired hand," he nodded towards the   
laptop. "Have you come up with anything yet?"  
  
Scully tapped at the keyboard. "The file on Prewitt   
just came through."  
  
"Anything interesting?"  
  
"Let's see... His credentials in the field of   
biology are very impressive. Quite a few research   
grants, covering a fairly wide range of research. Looks   
like he wasn't one to specialise." Scully scrolled the   
screen along further, then paused, frowning. "That's   
interesting..."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Prewitt's last attachment was working on a team   
led by a geneticist named Damien Velachi. But the actual   
project details are listed as classified."  
  
"No indication at all as to what they were doing?"  
  
"Not a thing."  
  
"Try running a background check on Velachi. Let's   
see what we come up with."  
  
"Right," Scully began typing, just as there was a   
tentative knock at the door.  
  
Crossing to the door, Mulder opened it to find a   
tired-looking, dishevelled man standing in front of him.  
  
"You Agent Mulder?"  
  
Mulder nodded. "You must be Gavin Litton. You'd   
better come inside."  
  
Litton shook his head and held up a hand. "Can I   
see some I.D. first? Just to make sure you are who you   
say you are."  
  
Mulder reached into his pocket for his wallet.   
"Maybe you'd like to return the favour."  
  
The detective managed a weary smile at this,   
reaching into his own pocket. "Good point, Agent Mulder.   
Nice to know one of us can still think straight."  
  
With identities established, Mulder led Litton into   
the room, where he introduced him to Scully. Litton then   
sat heavily on the end of one of the beds, resting his   
face in his hands. Scully eyed him with concern.  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
"I haven't slept much in the last week," said   
Litton. "Since what I saw at the compound, I've had a   
severe case of the paranoids."  
  
"Have you come up with any more information since   
you sent your last report to Byers?" asked Mulder.  
  
"No. I've been keeping a very low profile since   
then. The influence of the Fellowship seems to be   
spreading."  
  
"Are you sure of that?"  
  
Litton nodded. "You've seen the photos? That guy   
they've got pinned down in the last couple, Grady. The   
day after that happened, he showed up at home long   
enough to tell his wife he was joining the Fellowship.   
Jen Grady came to see me, quite distraught, wanted to   
know if there was anything I could do."  
  
"Why'd she come to you?"  
  
"I'm the only Private Detective in the area," said   
Litton, a trace of pride in his voice. "She'd already   
gone to the cops. They told her there was nothing they   
could do, that there was no evidence that Grady didn't   
go there of his own free will."  
  
"We'd better put her on our list of people to talk   
to," said Scully.  
  
Litton shook his head. "I told her I wouldn't take   
the case, I didn't want anything more to do with the   
Fellowship. So she decided to go out to the compound to   
try and talk some sense into Grady."  
  
"Let me guess," said Mulder. "She never came back."  
  
"Oh, she came back, alright. Long enough to put the   
house on the market and sell off most of their   
possessions. Then she moved straight on out to the   
compound."  
  
"Do the Fellowship confine themselves to the   
compound?"  
  
"No. About half a dozen of them have jobs outside   
the compound. Fairly menial stuff, mostly. Not what   
you'd expect of the new enlightened world order."  
  
"What about Byer's sister?"  
  
"Michelle? Yeah, she's one of the ones that works.   
She's a barmaid at Jammer's, a biker club just outside   
of town. It's a fairly rough joint."  
  
  
[3:00 pm]  
[THE FELLOWSHIP COMPOUND]  
[CHELTON, COLORADO]  
  
Marco Consala gripped the edge of the table until   
his knuckles turned white, his teeth gritted, his breath   
hissing between them. Grady stopped beside him, concern   
on his face.  
  
"You okay, pal?"  
  
Marco turned towards him, his lip curled in a   
snarl, "Mind your own friggin' business, asshole!"  
  
Before he even knew what he was doing, Grady had   
responded to Marco's comment by grabbing the front of   
the smaller man's shirt and dragging him out of his   
chair. Grady's fist shot back, then forward again, into   
Marco's face, knocking him back across one of the dining   
tables in the compound's communal dining hall.  
  
"Why'd you want to say that for, shithead?" barked   
Grady as he advanced on Marco, fists clenched. "I was   
just trying to be friendly! Why'd you want to say that?"  
  
He swung his fist again, catching his still-groggy   
opponent in the jaw. He followed up with a left to the   
solar-plexus, finding satisfaction in the pained grunt   
the blow elicited.  
  
Damn, this made him feel good!  
  
Grady was getting ready to beat Marco to a bloody   
pulp when he was grabbed from behind, his arms restrained.  
  
"Let me go, you bastards!"  
  
Marco took advantage of this break to grab a knife   
from one of the table settings. Grinning insanely, he   
lunged at Grady, but was stopped short as his arm was   
grabbed and twisted by another intervening Fellowship   
member.  
  
"That's enough!" roared Prewitt as he strode into   
the room. Grady and Marco continued to struggle against   
the restraining arms. Prewitt walked up to Grady and   
stuck his face an inch from the other's.  
  
"You were warned about this," he hissed. "You were   
told that there would be... pressures as you became one   
with the Fellowship. All you had to do was ask for   
help."  
  
"It wasn't my fault," Grady grunted. "That   
asshole..."  
  
"I don't care who's fault it is. We're all under   
the same pressures, but we manage to resist the urge to   
turn on ourselves. If we're to lead this world to   
enlightenment, we must be as one."  
  
Prewitt nodded to the men restraining Grady and   
Marco. "Put them in solitary until they cool off."  
  
The two men were dragged away, struggling and   
protesting. Harry Turner, Prewitt's second-in-command at   
the compound stepped up beside him. "That's the second   
fight today," he told Prewitt in a low voice. "The   
pressure's on for all of us."  
  
"I realise that. Call Michelle. Tell her we'll need   
another one for tonight."  
  
  
[4:00 pm]  
[CHELTON MOTOR INN]  
  
From the door of the unit, Mulder watched Litton's   
car pull away from the curb outside the motel.  
  
"Mulder, look at this."  
  
Mulder joined Scully at the table, looking over her   
shoulder at the laptop screen.  
  
"This is Damien Velachi's file," she told him. "It came   
through while we were talking to Litton. See here?   
There's no mention of his connection with Prewitt. In   
fact, Velachi was reported as missing six months ago."  
  
"Who filed the missing person report?"  
  
"Umm... That's odd. It doesn't say."  
  
Mulder sighed. A dead end, then.   
  
"You know, Mulder, this may not be what we thought   
it was."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"So far we've encountered several differences   
between the Icy Cape parasites and whatever's operating   
here." At Mulder's enquiring look, she continued. "The   
parasites we encountered in Alaska fed on acetecolene,   
which is produced during moments of anger and violence.   
That's why the original research team killed each other.   
But Litton said he hasn't observed any sign of such   
behaviour at the compound."  
  
"Maybe he wasn't watching at the right times. Don't   
forget, his principle concern was Michelle Byers, not   
the Fellowship as a whole."  
  
"Even so..."  
  
"Scully, I'm willing to admit that we could be   
wrong about this. In fact I'm really hoping we are. But   
you have to concede, there is something unusual going on   
here."  
  
"There's certainly no doubt about that."  
  
Mulder stretched and reached for his jacket. "Then   
I guess it's time for a bit of legwork."  
  
Scully nodded, shutting down the computer. "Where   
to first?"  
  
"I thought we'd check in with the local police, see   
what they can tell us about the Fellowship. Then I   
figured we'd grab a beer."  
  
  
[6:00 pm]  
[JAMMER'S BAR]  
  
The music pounding through the open doors of   
Jammer's Bar wasn't quite ear-splitting, but it was a   
close call, thought Mulder as they entered the tavern.  
  
Inside, the place was almost a cliche of what   
someone would expect of a biker bar. Large men wearing   
lots of leather and denim packed the room, clustered   
around the dozen or so tables, or hovering over the   
three battered pool tables. Scully kept close as they   
approached the bar, drawing a rapisly increasing number   
of hostile stares.  
  
"Mulder, maybe this isn't such a good idea."  
  
"We need to check out the lay of the land, Scully."  
  
"We don't exactly blend in here."  
  
"Maybe you should take off your jacket so they can   
see your tattoo. Then we'd blend in better."  
  
Scully didn't bother trying to hide her annoyance.   
"I don't have... Oh, forget it."  
  
The barman eyed them with as much open hostility as   
the rest of the patrons as they approached the bar.   
"Sure you folks are in the right place?"  
  
Mulder smiled. "I hope so. We're looking for   
someone. Do you have a Michelle Byers working here?"  
  
The smile had no effect on the barman. "That   
depends on who's asking."  
  
"Friends of the family," said Scully.  
  
The barman regarded them icily for a few moments,   
then nodded towards the pool tables. Mulder and Scully   
looked, and immediately spotted the dark-haired young   
woman from the Fellowship photos. Dressed in typical   
barmaid black and whites, she was weaving amongst the   
bikers collecting empty glasses and beer bottles.  
  
As she bent to retrieve a bottle from the floor,   
one of the bikers grabbed her backside. What happened   
next happened very quickly.  
  
Without a sound, Michelle spun around, an empty   
bottle in her hand. The bottle smashed against the man's   
head, spraying glass and blood. Even as the biker was   
falling to the floor, she was drawing her arm back,   
preparing to stab forward with the jagged neck of the   
bottle. Before she could inflict further damage,   
however, two more bikers had restrained her, twisting   
the broken bottle out of her hand.  
  
They pushed her away, laughing. Michelle turned and   
spat on the man sprawled on the floor, before stalking   
towards the door that led to the kitchen area.  
  
Scully was stunned. Mulder knew exactly how she   
felt. "It doesn't look as though she feels like talking   
right now," he said. "We'll come back later."  
  
The barman shook his head. "No. You won't."  
  
-----oOo-----  
  
As they walked across the parking lot towards their   
car, Mulder shook his head. "You mentioned something   
about no evidence of sudden violent behaviour?"  
  
"I take it back." Scully thought for a few moments.   
"Considering the environment she's working in, perhaps   
her response wasn't that unusual."  
  
"Oh, I agree. Her response wasn't that unusual for   
the environment. It just didn't gel with the profile   
Byers gave us of his sister. He claims that she normally   
wouldn't hurt a fly."  
  
Mulder thumbed the remote to unlock the car as they   
approached. As he opened his door, he noticed that   
Scully was staring over his shoulder.  
  
"Mulder..."  
  
Mulder turned. From the tavern, one of the bikers,   
a big man wearing a cut-off denim jacket, was striding   
towards them. He spoke when he was still a few yards   
away.  
  
"Your presence here is dangerous, Agent Mulder."   
The man's voice was surprisingly cultured, considering   
his appearance.  
  
"Who are you?" demanded Mulder. "How do you know   
who we are?"  
  
Beneath several days growth of stubble, the man's   
face broke into a grin. "Neither of those questions is   
important, Agent Mulder. What is important is that you   
understand that things are under control here. Your   
presence, your interference, is disruptive... and dangerous. I would advise the two of you to leave.   
Tonight."  
  
The biker started to turn away. Mulder stepped   
forward and grabbed his arm. "We're not going anywhere   
until we get some answers..."  
  
"Hey, Boxhead!" a voice bellowed from the direction   
of the bar. Mulder looked up and saw four more bikers   
standing just outside the door. "You got a problem with   
these civvies?"  
  
Boxhead looked towards his friends, then back at   
Mulder, still grinning, before calling out. "No. No   
problem." Lowering his voice so that only Mulder and   
Scully could hear, he hissed. "Tonight. I can't be   
responsible for the consequences if you don't listen to   
me."  
  
With that he turned and walked away. "Just wanted   
to see if the man was selling time with his lady," he   
boomed.   
  
The bikers laughed. "Well, how about it?" asked   
one.  
  
Boxhead shook his head. "Selfish asshole."  
  
-----oOo-----   
  
Scully turned to look back at Jammer's as they   
drove away. Boxhead and his friends had already gone   
back inside. She looked at Mulder.  
  
"What the hell was that all about?"  
  
Mulder's face was a picture of concentration as he   
stared at the unfolding road. "I'm not sure. But I have   
an idea." he said, then lapsed back into silence.  
  
Scully's patience was rapidly wearing thin. "Well?"   
she asked. "Are you trying to kill me with suspense or   
something?"  
  
  
[10:00 pm]  
[JAMMER'S BAR]  
  
Michelle checked her makeup in the grubby mirror   
above the sink of the employee's bathroom, and allowed   
herself a slight smile. Not too much damage tonight. A   
quick touch-up to her lipstick, and the smile widened.  
  
It was time to go hunting.  
  
-----oOo-----  
  
Twenty minutes later, Michelle was climbing onto   
the back of a steel-blue Harley, throwing her arms   
around the substantial waist of a biker she knew only as   
Mondo. As the bike roared out onto the road, she pressed   
her head against his broad back, smelling sweat and   
beer. She had to bite her tongue to keep from giggling.  
  
Mondo was under the impression that they were   
heading back to her place for sex.  
  
Boy, was he in for a surprise.  
  
  
[10:30 pm]  
[CHELTON MOTOR INN]  
  
"I'm still not sure I can buy this, Mulder," said   
Scully as she slipped a black woolen jumper over her   
head. "You really want me to believe that this whole   
think is some sort of top secret government experiment?"  
  
"It's the only thing that fits so far," said   
Mulder. He was already dressed entirely in black. "It   
would explain our friend at the bar. Think about it. A   
bit of genetic manipulation, to try and bring the   
parasite's effects under control, and some people in the   
military mind-set could see it as a way of producing a   
fearsome human killing machine. All they needed were a   
couple of the parasites retrieved from Alaska as a   
starting point..."  
  
"The site at Icy Cape was torched after we left,"   
Scully reminded him.  
  
"No, we were *told* that the site was torched. We   
never saw any proof of that. Are you ready to go?"  
  
Scully picked up a small knapsack from her bed, and   
nodded. "I'm still not sure about this skulking around,   
though. That's usually more your department."  
  
"The obvious approach got us a warning and a time   
limit," he told her. "So it's time to fade into the   
shadows."  
  
"And that's why we're climbing out the back   
window?"  
  
"Want me to get you a chair to stand on?"  
  
  
[11:30 pm]  
  
Mondo awoke in a tight pool of bright light, his   
head pounding. Darkness surrounded him on all sides,   
but, despite his grogginess, he immediately sensed that   
he wasn't alone.  
  
"What the fuck is this?" he demanded. "Where am I?"   
That bitch from the bar. That was how he had ended up   
here, wherever it was. She had made him stop along a   
farm road. Said she wanted to do it in a haystack. After   
that, nothing.  
  
Until this place.  
  
Something spun out of the darkness, striking him on   
the shoulder and clattering to the wooden floor. A   
baseball bat. Somewhere off to his left, a voice hissed.  
  
"What'd you give him that for?"  
  
"Wanna fight," another voice answered. "Make it   
last."  
  
Mondo snatched up the bat, throttling the grip with   
both hands, his knuckles white. "You want a fight, you   
sons of bitches? Come on! Show yourselves! I'll give you   
a fight!"  
  
They moved out of the darkness then. Surrounding   
him, there must have been a couple of dozen. Some were   
armed, with bats and clubs, others just clenched their   
fists repeatedly. All gazed at him with malevolent,   
animal eyes.  
  
He spun in tight circles, trying to watch all of   
them at once. As they closed in he began swinging the   
bat wildly. Then they were upon him, howling with   
delight, baying for his blood.  
  
Mondo screamed, in defiance and pain.  
  
  
[MIDNIGHT]  
[THE FELLOWSHIP COMPOUND]  
  
Mulder and Scully moved cautiously between two of   
the buildings in the Fellowship compound. Mulder paused   
to peer into a darkened window before signalling Scully   
to move on. At the corner of the building, they had a   
view of the central courtyard area.  
  
The only lights visible were emanating from the   
largest of the buildings, directly opposite.  
  
"Well?" asked Scully.  
  
Mulder nodded towards the main building. "The   
lights are on, so somebody's home. Let's work our way   
around the back."  
  
They trotted to the back of the building and turned   
the corner...  
  
Where they found themselves facing the barrel of a   
pump-action shotgun.  
  
"Well, hello there," said the man behind the gun.   
In the dim light they could just see that he was   
smiling. "Looks like you folks have taken a very wrong   
turn."  
  
-----oOo-----  
  
Max Prewitt used the back of his hand to wipe a   
splash of blood from his face, then stretched as he   
walked away from the motionless, red-stained lump lying   
on the floor. There was little left to indicate that it   
had once been a human being. Around him, the others were   
sitting back, joking and laughing. The pressure was off.  
  
  
For now.  
  
He nodded to Harry Turner, who was gazing at his   
blood-spattered hands with a vacant smile on his face.   
Prewitt jerked his thumb back, indicating Mondo's body.   
"Make sure you get rid of that. Tonight."  
  
Turner's smile broadened. "You got it, boss."  
  
Movement over at the door caught his attention. One   
of the sentries was using the butt of his shotgun to   
"encourage" two people, a man and a woman, into the   
room. Prewitt frowned. He'd never seen either one of   
them before.  
  
"I found these two sneaking around outside," said   
the sentry. "They were carrying these." He handed over   
two holstered handguns and a small knapsack. Prewitt   
peered into the bag. Flashlights and other assorted   
skulking items, including a set of lockpicks.  
  
He studied the faces of the two prisoners. They   
were both wary, nervous, but apparently not scared.   
Well, that would soon change.  
  
"I don't suppose either of you would be willing to   
tell me who you are and what you're doing here?"  
  
The tall, lanky man started to open his mouth, but   
the small redhead spoke up first. "We're private   
detectives," she said. "We were hired by a man named   
Byers to locate his sister, Michelle."  
  
Prewitt smiled. "Does this Mister Byers have reason   
to fear for the safety of his sister?"  
  
"He doesn't know. That's what we were sent here to   
find out."  
  
"Well, then. I think we can sort this all out   
easily enough." He turned to the others, resting in the   
shadows. "Michelle!"  
  
Michelle stood and stretched lithely, then walked   
towards them, the front of her blouse stained crimson, a   
contented smile on her face.  
  
"Michelle, these good people are here on behalf of   
your brother. Apparently he'd like to know if you'd be   
willing to leave us."  
  
The dark-haired girl laughed softly as she hooked   
her arm through Prewitt's, resting her head on his   
shoulder. "You can tell that pig-headed brother of mine   
that I'm perfectly happy, and safe, right where I am,   
thank you very much."  
  
The man smiled and nodded. "Well, I guess that   
answers that. Sorry we bothered you. If we could just   
have our stuff back, we'll be on our..."  
  
Prewitt shook his head. "It's not quite that easy,   
I'm afraid. You've seen a little more than I'd have   
liked." He nodded to the sentry. "Take them to Velachi."  
  
-----oOo-----  
  
As the sentry, now backed up by two others, led   
them along a carpetted corridor, Mulder tried coming up   
with a few escape options. So far nothing had   
immediately suggested itslef. But that didn't mean that   
something wouldn't turn up eventually, it was just a   
matter of staying alert for the opportunity.  
  
They stopped in front of a large steel door, which   
looked to Mulder as if it belonged on an industrial-size   
deep freeze. The lead sentry pulled on the handle and   
the door swung slowly open. The sharp odour of ammonia   
reached his nostrils.  
  
The sentry stepped aside and ushered them into the   
room. Mulder exchanged a glance with Scully. She   
responded with raised eyebrows and the slightest of   
shrugs. Obviously she hadn't thought of anything ,   
either. With no other choice, he stepped through the   
door.  
  
The room was lit in soft shades of blue, giving the   
place a cold, sterile feel. The stench of ammonia was a   
lot stronger, as well, almost making him gag. Underlying   
the chemical smell was something else, the smell of   
something rotten. The source of both smells was   
immediately obvious.  
  
Situated in the centre of the room was a child's   
wading pool, in which had been placed a large wooden   
chair. The room's sole occupant was propped up on the   
chair. Beside him, Mulder heard Scully utter a shocked   
gasp, "Oh my god..."  
  
It looked as though Velachi had been dead for some   
time. The skin on his face and hands looked dry and   
shrunken, his lips peeled back from his teeth in a   
horrifying grimmace. Then Mulder noticed the deep gashes   
on each wrist, the arms dangling down towards the few   
inches of liquid in the pool. As he watched, a writhing,   
wormlike creature slid out of the wound on the right   
wrist and dropped into the pool.  
  
Prewitt brushed past him and stood beside the pool.   
He gazed down into it, almost lovingly, then looked back   
at Mulder and Scully. "Look upon the host of my god," he   
said. "The agent through whom the world will find   
salvation."  
  
"You're using this man's corpse as a breeding   
centre for more parasites," said Scully. 'That's   
monstrous."  
  
"It's more monstrous than you think, Scully," said   
Mulder. "I don't think Velachi's dead." On closer   
observation, Mulder had noticed that Velachi's chest was   
rising and falling almost imperceptably. And in the open   
eyes he thought he could see a look of indescribable   
horror.  
  
Prewitt moved towards him, frowning. "How did you   
know Damien's name? Just who are you, really?"  
  
"Would you believe County Health Inspectors?" said   
Mulder. "It looks like you've got a real infestation   
problem here..."  
  
The cult leader backhanded him across the face.   
"DON'T get cute with me! Since you're not willing to   
give me a straight answer, I'll just have to get you to   
change your minds." Prewitt suddenly grinned,   
"Literally."  
  
He signalled the two Fellowship members standing   
guard behind Mulder and Scully. Rough hands grabbed   
their arms and shoulders, forcing them forward and down,   
onto their knees. Now Mulder could see into the pool,   
where more than a dozen of the creatures swam. The smell   
of ammonia was almost overpowering. Prewitt stood over   
them.  
  
"Soon, my friends. So very, very soon, everything   
will be wonderfully clear. You won't believe how...   
liberating the conversion is."  
  
Now Michelle Byers moved forward, holding a glass   
jar. She dipped the jar into the pool, and when she held   
it up again Mulder could see that it now contained a   
parasite. Michelle smiled. "Ladies first."  
  
The man holding Scully pushed her head forward,   
revealing the back of her neck. Mulder struggled against   
the restraining arms. "Don't do this, Michelle. Fight   
it. You know this isn't right. That thing in your hand,   
the one that's inside you, they're destroying you,   
making you into someone you're not. Don't do it."  
  
You don't understand, mister." Michelle spoke   
softly, as though to a simple child. "But you will. When   
you join us, you'll wonder how you ever could have   
existed any other way."  
  
Then Harry Turner burst into the room, gasping for   
breath. "Boss, it's the bikers from the tavern. They've   
just ridden into the compound, and they're armed to the   
teeth."  
  
Prewitt's face went livid. "How dare they!" With   
obvious effort, he forced himself to regain control.   
"Let's go see what they want. Bring those two."  
  
Mulder and Scully were dragged to their feet, and   
dragged along following Prewitt and the others. Mulder   
saw Michelle produce a lid which she used to securely   
cap the jar.  
  
-----oOo-----  
  
Outside, the compound was alive with the roar of   
motorcycle engines, headlights sweeping across the   
buildings. Some of the bikers had burning torches across   
their handlebars, while most of the others were carrying   
fire-arms of some kind.  
  
Prewitt stood at the base of the stairs leading   
from the main building, watching the display in shocked   
anger. "What is the meaning of this!?" he roared.   
  
One of the bikes swung to a halt, and Mulder   
immediately recognized their friend Boxhead. He grinned.   
"I hear you folks are waiting for the coming of your   
god."  
  
"What of it?" demanded Prewitt.  
  
Boxhead shifted the pump-action shotgun that lay   
across his handle-bars. "Well, me and the boys have been   
thinking. Before the coming of a god, shouldn't there be   
a Judgement Day, or something?"  
  
"What?" Prewitt was truly puzzled. Boxhead's grin   
became wider.  
  
"It's Judgement Day, asshole." In one fluid   
movement, Boxhead swung the shotgun around, jacked a   
shell into the chamber, and fired. Prewitt was thrown   
back against the stairs, blood spraying from his chest.   
Taking their cue from their leader, the rest of the   
bikers opened fire.  
  
Mulder and Scully were shoved aside as their   
captors reached for weapons of their own. Mulder reached   
out and grabbed Scully's arm, dragging her around the   
corner of the building as the sound of gunfire filled   
the air.  
  
"Mulder, what's happening?"  
  
A bullet whined through the air somewhere close by.   
Mulder shook his head. "I'm not sure. But I think I'd   
rather try to figure it out from a safer distance. Come   
on."  
  
Leading the way, he headed towards the perimeter of   
the compound. Behind them, a couple of buildings had   
already started to burn. War cries and screams could be   
heard.  
  
They were only a dozen feet from the safety of the   
tree line when the headlight of a Harley pinned them in   
it's beam. Mulder froze, Scully doing likewise. The   
light swung to one side, and he could make out Boxhead   
sitting astride his bike. The shotgun wasn't quite   
pointing in their direction.  
  
"I'm glad to see you're taking the sensible course   
of action," said the biker. "If you stuck around, we'd   
have to clean you up like everything else here."  
  
Mulder was surprised. "You're letting us go?"  
  
"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Agent   
Mulder. You're not the priority here. And come morning,   
there won't be any evidence that anything ever happened.   
Anything you think you saw here must have just been a   
bad dream, if you know what I mean."  
  
"Who are you? Who do you work for?"  
  
Boxhead shook his head and hefted the shotgun.   
"This is not the time to be asking those sorts of   
questions. Goodbye Agent Mulder, Agent Scully. I'll give   
you ten seconds to disappear."  
  
Scully grabbed Mulder's arm. "Come on, Mulder. We   
can't do anything here."  
  
Mulder took one last look at the now-burning   
compound, and followed Scully into the trees.  
  
-----oOo-----  
  
Prewitt staggered into the Inner Sanctum, supported   
by Michelle. She lowered him to the floor beside the   
pool. He coughed, blood flying from his lips.  
  
"They can't do this," she sobbed. "They can't!"  
  
He held her shoulders firmly, turning her to face   
him. "That doesn't matter now," he said, his voice   
already fading. "You know what you have to do now."  
  
She shook her head. "I can't," she said. "I can't   
leave you."  
  
Prewitt summoned his last remaining strength,   
putting it into his command. "You must! Now, before it's   
too late!"  
  
  
[12:30 pm]  
[OCT. 2ND, 1995]  
[WASHINGTON D.C.]  
  
"We went back with the local authorities the next   
day. The whole compound had been razed to the ground,   
but there was no blood, no bodies, no evidence of any   
real foul play. The sheriff was working on the basis   
that the cult had decided to up and move on the spur of   
the moment. It might have been that he was glad to see   
the end of them, but I have the feeling that someone may   
have convinced him not to bother looking too deep."  
  
Byers gazed listlessly at the pile of papers on the   
desk in front of him. "And Michelle?"  
  
As he looked up at her, Scully shook her head.  
  
"There was no sign of her," said Mulder. "I'm   
sorry, Byers"  
  
  
[SAME TIME]  
[SAME DATE]  
[SOMEWHERE IN THE U.S.A.]  
  
The old Ford chugged along the highway, blue smoke   
belching out from behind it. She knew that she'd been   
pushing the car too hard, but she wanted to get as much   
distance between herself and the clean-up crew as   
possible.  
  
She glanced down at the seat beside her, where an   
old glass jar lay.  
  
And inside the jar, something squirmed and ticked   
against the glass...  
  
  
TH'END. 


End file.
